


Sing Me To Sleep, My Nightingale

by OnyourRadar



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Bards, Dialogue Heavy, Hope you enjoy, M/M, OR IS IT, Sorry Not Sorry, The Nightingale, a damn shame, bard lucas, but they get together, but you guys get the gist, god awful english, gratuitous use of My Bard My King, i tried to ake it sound like old knights speaking, king eliott, kings - Freeform, loosely based on hans christian andersen, meep, not my forte, oookkkay, so AU, stupid boys to the end my friends, told in sections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyourRadar/pseuds/OnyourRadar
Summary: “Then have you not shown the true measures of a man?”“My king, I do not claim to know the follies of men nor the measure of them. I am a bard. I travel, I sing, and go on my merry way.”"And yet here we are..."--or--That Bard and King AU...
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 14
Kudos: 85





	Sing Me To Sleep, My Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked on Tumblr what my fav fairytale was. This. This is my fave fairytale 
> 
> The Nightingale. 
> 
> Title is based off of Demi Lavato's song, Nightingale.

“My men told me you fought bravely.”

Lucas looks up at the tall man who stands before him across the way, safe and behind those cast iron bars which hold Lucas in captivity. His cell feels small in the presence of the other. The man, young and ageless carrying shadows below his speckled eyes, wears a crown; a golden wreath atop unruly hair. And in his golden crown are jewels and gemstones of bright amethysts and rubies. Droplets of wealth that Lucas had dreamt of in his youth. 

“Your men know how to tell stories. I am a simple man, a bard. There was nothing brave about how I fought.” His voice cracks, dry from lack of use and parched for water. He’s been locked away now for a little over a fortnight with no company but his own. 

“And is it not true you fought to defend others and not yourself?”

Lucas hums and looks off to the side. He knows he is in the presence of the king and his actions are less than favorable. Less than diplomatic for someone of his stature. He thinks little of how he could worsen his narrative. How a songbird might be caged and feel it to be a fate worse than death. 

“It is true.” 

“Then have you not shown the true measures of a man?” 

Lucas tilts his head his eyes cutting across the shadows and really taking in the relaxed stance of the man who was known to be kind and ruthless, to lead with heart and a heavy hand. A king that was caring but would cut with his actions. King Eliott was loved by many. He tells his people this war is necessary. 

Lucas finds it hard to accept. 

“My king, I do not claim to know the follies of men nor the measure of them. I am a bard. I travel, I sing, and go on my merry way.” 

“And yet here you are, one to have drawn a weapon against my royal guards and impressed them, so to be brought as a captive instead of being cut down.” King Eliott leans forward slightly, eyes narrowed as he examines Lucas like a fine specimen. 

“Only to deflect the sword that was raised against the innocents that I saw that night.” Children. He remembers the fear that crept in their eyes and held them frozen, rooted. 

“In battles there will always be innocent lives lost.”

Lucas bites his tongue lest he speak and criticize the actions of a king in front of the king himself. 

He turns in slight dismissal and leans his greasy hair against the cool stone of the wall that holds him and closes his eyes. He was tired. 

“I find you interesting. Till we meet again.” 

Lucas breathes in deep, feels how his body expands and retracts, much the way he would hold breath before releasing a long note. All he releases now is air that feels dead.

*****

He holds his hands up and lets out a sigh of relief as the heavy shackles fall with a clank against the floor at his feet. Lucas rubs his wrist, the soreness feels bone deep.

“Come, quickly.” Lucas sees a boy who looks no older than him standing there hand outstretched to help Lucas to his feet. Lucas trembles as he stands. But there is only kindness that greets him. Kind eyes a beautiful shade of brown, light pools shining with threads of gold. Eyes that Lucas could sing a song of. 

He was just a boy in armour, silver and gleaming in the flickering lights of torches that lined the walls. The armour plate of his is carved with the king’s ensignia and Lucas knows he is being held with a soft grip but calculating eyes of one of the king’s personal guards. 

“And where am I being led?” He wonders if it’s too his death. Has he insulted the king? Gone too far with his dismissal. But that was days. Five to be exact, if the movement of the sun across his cell was to go by.

The boy gives him nothing as he simply shakes his head, a smile blossomed on his lips. He was a beautiful boy and Lucas wonders if the king has ever brought him to bed. He makes up stories in his head, in song and rhyme, as he is led along corridors lit by daylight, feet and toes brushing on the soft rugs weaved with images of beautiful battles, some he has sung about in royal courts on many occasions. 

He doesn’t stop until he’s ushered into a room with one other person sitting in wait for him. She’s a beauty with dark skin, like midnight. She dresses in fine cloths that accentuate her curves and yet so modestly covers her like a maiden in waiting. 

“Is this him? The little song bird my brother captured?” 

Lucas feels his eyes drop and his mouth open in recognition. 

“I would be careful, Imane, this little song bird, that you address nearly became Idriss’ maker.” 

“Hm, I can take care of myself, Sofiane. You may leave.” Her eyes bright and white stare intently at Lucas and Lucas hides nothing. 

“I’ll be just outside these doors.” On his way out, Sofiane pats his shoulders with a gentleness that Lucas finds to be a warning. 

“She means well.”

It doesn’t take long before Imane gestures him to to follow her. And she turns her back without a care, as if not fearing that he could harm her, take revenge for however long they’ve held him in a cell with little food and water to keep him sane. 

She leads him into a spare room with a stone bath raised from the ground. She bends and shovels coal into a small opening and Lucas sees the embers and the licks of heat that caresses her face, glowing. 

“Undress. We’ll have you cleaned and presentable before you know it. I bet you’ve been dying for a bath.” 

He doesn’t give her the satisfaction of responding but yes. He’s dreamt of clearing the dirt and grim from his skin, memories of bloodshed from the night he was captured. He wants the water to wash it all away. 

The bath water is pleasantly warm and as he sits and soaks, ducks his head and allows his fingers to skim the water’s surface, behind him Imane throws in plucked petals of roses and beautiful blooms of peonies. The scents tickle his nose. 

“Would you like me to wash your hair or is the little song bird capable?” 

When he looks back at her, her smile is soft and nowhere does he sense hostility. 

“I shall do it myself my lady.” He holds out his hands for the oils, soaks himself in floral scents and when he breathes in deeply, prepares to dip below the surface, he touches on the smell of citrus and a memory bursts on his tongue. 

When he resurfaces the world around him is wet and blurry and it is almost as if he looks on at all this wealth with broken spectacles.

“He is a good king. An even better man.” 

Her voice is quiet as if doing her very best to convince a cowered animal. A trapped bird. 

He looks away and dries himself on a towel she hands him, eyes weary. 

“I do not claim to know him. I do not judge what I do not know.” Lucas simply knows what he sees with his eyes. What he experiences with his hands. 

HIs fingers twitch in the empty air. 

He misses his lute.

*****

Lucas is sitting in a courtyard, a place he frequents almost everyday now since being cleaned up and given his own quarters in the servants wing of the castle. All around him are walls, stone tall, towering and boxing him in. Above him the sky is blue and he dreams of how the clouds drift.

He loves this place. It is the only reprieve in this lavish prison he has found himself locked away in. Loves all the trees grown tall and gnarled, the beautiful bushes of roses and wildflowers that dot the earth at his feet. Lucas sees it as an illusion he uses to bring comfort for having lost his freedom. 

“My guards tell me you like this place.”

Around him the birds chirp. When Lucas finally turns to greet his king Lucas stands slow and kneels. 

“My king.” The words taste foreign on his tongue and sounds strained in his voice. 

“Do not force yourself bard.” 

Calloused fingers hold his chin in a grip that commands attention, that holds power and Lucas finds that he is weak to it as his gaze is drawn up. 

Lucas is greeted with a silhouette dipped in sunlight. Their king was handsome. By no means hard on the gaze. A boon that one would hold well in their memories and compose songs of tender love and heartbreak. 

Lucas is not immune to it. 

"And to what do I owe this visit from the king himself?" 

There is no accusation in his voice only a simple kind of curiosity, one befitting a nameless bard. 

When Eliott smiles, his lips tilt up on one side and his gaze washes over Lucas once before looking out at the courtyard. He steps away and sits down on the stone slab. A seat Lucas occupied not moments before. 

"There is a certain kind of peace this place brings. I can see why you find enjoyment here." 

"I find the songs of the birds to be relaxing." 

King Eliott hums acknowledgement but his eyes still wander all around the both of them. 

The king motions for Lucas to sit down beside him and all Lucas could do is stare eyes wide and shake his head. 

"I wouldn't dare to take such privileges my king."

"But you would deny my request?" Lucas looks startled. He catches the mirth dancing in those blue eyes, greyed by sunrays and he finds himself looking away once more. A tightness in his chest for reasons unknown to him. 

"That is surely not my intent, my king."

"Am I?" 

Lucas looks one confused. He sits back on his hind quarters, feeling the relief from the burning in his knees as he knelt. 

"My apologies…I--"

"Am I your king?" 

Lucas swallows. 

"Do you not lay claim to these lands and am I not a subject? And if there is truth in this, then are you not my king?" 

What surprises Lucas is how the king laughs, joyous and loud. His sound echoes and scatters birds from their perch on low hanging branches. 

"My bard, somehow I find that even if you speak truth, I do not hold claim over you." 

Lucas finds that for a man who spins words and song for a way of living he is short of them now in this moment. Because he doesn't confirm or deny the king's words.

*****

"Tell me bard, what do they call you?"

They've been sitting quietly now for hours. Lucas with his head tilted back and bathing in the rays of light, his eyes closed because Lucas has found that the king nbn is not one to truly deny him basic comforts. His back against the eastern wall of his courtyard. His legs drawn up towards his chest, cotton trousers bunched and the breeze tickles his ankles and bare feet. Only a stones throw away the king sits on the stone bench. 

"My family name is Lallemant and my companions call me Lucas."

"Shall I call you by name? 

"My king, you may call me whatever you wish." Lucas does his best to keep his tone from bleeding bitter. 

"Lucas." 

His eyes snap open and what he sees brings flush, red hot, to the skins of his cheeks. The king watches him with a hungry gaze. He beckons his guard and Lucas is surprised to find a lute of embellished wood and sturdy strings. It sits in his grasp bejeweled and heavy. 

His fingers pluck the strings gently and the familiar hum of a tune wraps around him. 

"Is it to your liking." 

And Lucas finds it hard to spit out an answer. He wishes not to appear ungrateful. 

"It is...extravagant." he is used to a much lighter fare. Of simple carved wood and strings tuned to his deft fingers.

Eliott hums thoughtfully. 

"Do you wish to play for my court?" 

"If that is how I will be of use to you my king." Lucas responds as his fingers continue their strumming. He doesn't look up to catch the spark of irritation that settle on king Eliott's face but hears it in his voice. 

"Is it not your wish to play?" 

Lucas pauses his strumming and he looks up at the sky where he sees the birds fly high over towering walls. He longs for freedom and choice but he fears he doesn't truly have it. As much as his king makes out like he does. 

"You only need tell me and I will play for you when you ask." 

There is a huff of anger and he watches as his kings rises, shoulders tight and wound and Lucas notices how tired and thinned out his king looks. 

"I grow tired of asking questions and receiving no answers, bard. You truly are good with words. A trickster of the tongue." 

He turns and his boots scruff the stone path, sword clanging at his side.

"My king!" Lucas calls out and curses as his own voice betrays him. King Eliott turns, head tilted as he waits for Lucas to speak. 

"What use do you have for me?" _Why do you keep me?_

Lucas watches as his king shakes his head, hand moving to run through his hair, catching on the sharp tips of his crown. 

"There are stories of a bard whose songs are healing. Who sings and bewitches those that listen to his voice. Perhaps, I am searching for him." He sighs. "Perhaps, I am searching for a cure." 

To see his king shake his head forlorn and subject to loss, Lucas tries again. 

"You need only ask my king." As a bard who has sung many songs of heartbreak, of sadness and longing, he finds the sight of a broken smile from his king to be the saddest of all. 

"I have, my bard. Counter to what you may believe I do not make habit of forcing onto others what they do not wish."

For the first time since finding sanctuary, there in that courtyard, Lucas feels alone and horrid as he watches his king go.

*****

"I watch you sometimes. From there," Lucas follows the point of a finger and sees the arch of a window overlooking the courtyard. He imagines his king leaning against the stone, eyes looking down on him.

"And when you hum the tunes from your past, sometimes I am graced as it floats to me." 

Lucas looks at his king who not two days ago, visited him in the courtyard and apologized for his behavior the week before. 

Lucas could only smile and sit in a welcomed silence for hours with the king. 

Now, Lucas strums his lute. A different one than the one he'd been given. This one smaller and lighter and a simple carved shape. Strings not weighted by pleated silver. 

"Lucas, do you wish to play for my court?" 

He misses a note and his fingers slip and Lucas holds back a wince at the sharpness that bites the air like a scorned lover. 

"My king if that is what you wish, you only need ask." 

King Eliott does not respond but like the times before, he makes a move to leave at Lucas' response. 

"My king," Lucas waits for him to turn, eyebrows raised. "If I may be so bold to ask, what ails you so?" 

_Because your eyes have sunken and you've grown frail and weak. It scares me to see you like this._

"My bard… my heart is weak and I do not sleep. I'm looking for a song to sooth my torn soul." Lucas sees how he clutches at his heart gentle like he might break and it is all that Lucas can do to not rush to his side. 

"My king, all you need do is ask." 

"I have, my bard. I have."

*****

"My king…"

"Just once, I would like for you to call me by name. Eliott. Go on try."

"I wouldn't dream of it, my king."

"Wouldn't you?"

"…"

*****

Lucas glares at it. Twice it has accompanied his king when he visits Lucas here in this courtyard and twice Lucas is subjected to the eyesore.

"It is a songbird. Enchanted by the witch of the west to sing songs that are meant to heal. To soothe me." 

Eliott says weakly. A bastard version of a human built and constructed with the unnatural metals welded together to create a slim body, a pointed face. Two large cobalt gems sit still where eyes were meant to be. An ungodly creation where jaws would hinge open and song would fill the air. 

It burned Lucas' ears and appeared to do little more than entertain his king. 

Lucas hated it. He grew quiet around it and refused to pick up his lute. He hated the way it resembled him. It was a farce and would be the death of him yet. 

"My bard… do you wish to play for my courts?" 

Lucas doesn't deign him with an answer. When he sees his king stand to leave, that monstrosity trailing after him, Lucas does not try to call him back as he would have before. 

When Eliott comes back the next day and the next, still with his unnatural companion, Lucas locks away his voice. 

But then he stops showing.

*****

Lucas doesn't see his king for weeks and his worry festers and grows. He finds it difficult to focus on the simple act of plucking strings on his lute.

He sits with his legs curled towards his body, trousers stained with grass. He worries at his lips as he thinks back on the last time he saw his king, looking worn down and exhausted and he curses his stupidity. 

Curses how he took for too much privilege and how he held his tongue in the presence of his king when he had no right. 

He feels the angry rush of tears prick at his eyes and holds back a sob as his chest constricts. He fear he has lost his only chance. 

When his ears pick up the sound of crunching leaves Lucas is quick to turn and the sight makes the tears fall. 

"My king…"

With disheveled hair and a gaunt face and bruises and shadows of burdens beneath dull blue eyes, Eliott looks close to death's door. 

He stands quickly, his lute falling to the ground in his haste. 

"Look at you, why do you sit here with tears in your eyes as if the world is ending?"

Lucas bites at his bottom lip and considers fighting the urge to jump into his king's arms. He decides that the fight was not worth it and rushes at him, throwing his arms around his neck and holding on dearly. 

Long arms hold him steady at the waist and he shivers at the breathy chuckle near his ears. 

"You treat me as if I have already passed. Not yet my dear bard."

A hand moves up to tangle in his hair and Lo Lucas welcomes the pressure that pushes and pulls him closer so that he breathes in the scent of roses and peonies. 

"My king...you came back." he finds his voice choking. Overwhelmed

"I'm sorry I left you for so long. I had to come back. That songbird….it was a poor replacement for the one I truly wanted." 

Lucas let's out a shuddering breath as he clings to him. 

"Ask me…please just ask me." The fingers in his hair tighten then it pulls him away from that sturdy chest. Lucas finds he is staring into those eyes that have watched him over many moons now. Eyes that he has come to fall for. 

"Will...you sing for me, my bard?" 

Lucas nods. He nods again and again, his own hands come up to cup the hollowed cheeks. 

"For as long as you will have me, my king, I will sing for you every night so that you might sleep." 

Lucas feels a rush of love, the kind he used to sing of, the kind he had never experienced before but only ever dreamed of. He feels it in the press of lips against his and all Lucas could do was cling on. 

He gives it back tenfold, so his king does not forget. Can not mistake his longing for a second longer. When they pull back Lucas is subject of the sweetest gaze. 

"I have desired that for so long." 

"Then why did you not act upon these feelings?" 

"I've told you my bard," his king brushes the hair away from his forehead and Lucas leans into his gentle caress. 

"I am not one to force onto others what they do not want." 

Lucas sighs into the palm that holds his cheek. 

"I am surprised my king, that you have kept me this long for my stubbornness."

And the king sighs a small smile on his lips. 

"Lucas my love, you were never a prisoner. Had you requested it you would have been free to leave." 

But he never asked. 

Lucas looks at his king with question in his eyes. The months spent here with room and board and plenty of food. He had felt a prisoner but never was he treated as one after his initial capture. 

Lucas stands tall and leans his forehead against his king's and realizes perhaps he never meant to leave at all. Somewhere between when he was brought to the castle and all those times spent near his king, Lucas lost the urge to leave and found that he wanted his king to _want_ him to stay. 

"What a pair the two of us make, my king."

"Indeed we do, my bard."


End file.
